The Line Crossed
by R.W. plus me
Summary: Okay, so in the chapter where Ron leaves Harry and Hermione in Deathly Hallows, Hermione goes outside to try and bring Ron back. What if they had a conversation before Ron Disapparated, something Harry didn’t hear. It could have happened, right?


_The Line Crossed:_

No. It wasn't happening. He wasn't going to leave them…he wasn't going to leave her. She clung to the thought that it had been the locket that had made him talk like that. That it was the locket that was making him shout all of those horrible things at them. She knew it wasn't him, not really. She knew, she could tell by his eyes, that he regretted it – well, he regretted most of it – the moment Harry told him to leave the locket behind. And it was because of this that she ran after him.

The rain hit her face and ran down her neck, making her shiver. He had a head start; she had been impeded by the Shield Charm she had cast to keep Harry and Ron from fighting. She was almost sure he would have left already; why would he have stayed, but she needed to check. She needed to know that he was gone. She needed to see it.

He was standing in the rain, his hair plastered to his forehead, his rucksack slung over one shoulder. His face was still set in lines of anger and he was looking up at the tent. Hermione's heart stopped as she realized that he was saying goodbye. His eyes widened as she appeared at the mouth of the tent, his lips parting slightly. She knew that he did not think she would come after him.

"Ron," she said softly. She was not sure if he could hear her over the rain, but something had taken her voice. "Don't go. Please," she said.

Ron took a step closer to her and every nerve in her body screamed. He was walking towards her, he wasn't walking away. Maybe, just maybe he wouldn't leave after all. Maybe she could fix everything he had said tonight.

"I have to," he said in a terribly strangled voice. He looked at her, his eyes dark and shadowed. She wanted to throw herself into his arms, she wanted to hold onto him so that he wouldn't leave. But years of practice of restraining herself from him kept her from doing both things.

"Why?" she asked, taking a step closer to him. They were barely inches apart. She could reach out and grab his hand if she wanted to, but she didn't.

"Are you still staying?" he asked, and she closed her eyes. She had hoped he wouldn't ask that question. She had hoped she would only have to answer it once.

"I have to," she said softly, looking down at the ground as she spoke. She did not want to see the hurt in his eyes again.

"Then I can't stay," Ron said shortly, and he began to walk away.

"Wait!" she called out in desperation. He stopped at the sound of her voice, his head bowed as he slowly turned to her again.

"What is it, Hermione?" he asked, and his voice sounded tired, resigned.

"How can I go with you?" she shouted. "Do you know what they would do to me if I went back with you? They would throw me in Azkaban or send me to the Dementors or kill me or…"

Ron took several steps toward her, and took both of her hands in his. The combination of this unexpected motion and the thought of what else they would do to her if she went back to the wizarding world rendered her speechless.

"Don't say stuff like that," Ron said, his voice gravelly and rough. "Don't ever say anything like that."

"But it's true, Ron," Hermione said, squeezing both of his hands a little harder. "I couldn't go back with you because I don't belong there, I don't belong…anywhere," she whispered, and she realized she was crying again.

Ron looked deep into her and she felt her heart flutter in her chest. "We don't _have_ to go back. We can…we can hide out. My mum's brother Fabian had a house or something in Scotland. We'll go there; we'll go where no one can find us. I'll…I'll make sure nothing happens to you," Ron said, the urgent desperation of his voice making her heart pound harder in her chest.

"A h-house in Scotland?" she asked, and she felt an overpowering emotion sweep over her. A house in Scotland with Ron, just the two of them, together. It sounded terribly convincing, and she bit her lip, she had to say no, she couldn't go with him. But…

"It's small, and no one's lived in it for ages, but we could do it. And when this is all over, when everything is alright again, we can go back," Ron said earnestly, now squeezing her hands a little harder.

_When this is all over._

She couldn't go, she couldn't take his offer. "Ron, this won't be over unless we stop it. We told Harry we would help him, and we have to do that, because this won't be over unless we stop it. Harry's the only one who can finish him, and we are the only ones who can help him. We need to stay with him, or we'll be hiding out for the rest of our lives."

Ron dropped her hands, his brow knit with anger as he looked down at her. "I knew it. I always knew it. Of course it was Harry, how stupid I was to think it could ever be me," he said scathingly, and he began to walk away again.

Hermione sobbed. "Ron, it was _always_ you. Please, don't be like this. Just come back, please just come back!" she cried, her voice sounding oddly hollow in the rain.

Ron paused again, and rounded on Hermione. "Don't you dare! Don't tell me it was me; don't tell me that you don't like…that you don't _fancy_ Harry. What am I to you, after all? Just the one who tags along, the one who lives off the glory of the famous one and the brilliant one. Don't you realize I'm always a step behind you two? You're staying here, aren't you; you're staying here with Harry. I offered to keep you safe, to protect you, but that's not good enough, is it? You'd rather be with him; you reckon he'd do a better job of it. Well, _fine_! I hope the two of you are happy being bloody brilliant together and bloody famous and bloody remembered by reporters and teachers. I get it, I was stupid. Just let me go, Hermione," Ron shouted.

Hermione's blood boiled; she wasn't going to let him have the last word. She wasn't going to let him leave, and she wasn't going to let him go on thinking all the things he just said were true. She ran toward him, taking his hand and holding on tightly.

"You know, sometimes I think I'm wasting my time," she said, and she was shouting too. "I've been giving you massive hints since you were thirteen years old and you failed to pick up on a single one! Sometimes I didn't know why I was even bothering; because it was so obvious you couldn't be _less_ interested! But then you go off like you just did, and I realized it doesn't matter how many times I try; I'll keep trying until you finally understand," Hermione screamed, dropping his hand once he did not turn on the spot. Tears were pouring down her face now, though she did not move to brush them away.

Ron mouthed wordlessly at her, clearly at a lack for words. In one long string of sentences, she had just disproved every single thing he had shouted at her. Her heart began to beat faster again. If she could just convince him, if she could finally tell him that she liked him – that she _loved_ him – maybe he wouldn't leave after all.

"Are you coming or not," he said finally, and she closed her eyes again. It had all been for nothing. He wasn't going to leave this alone.

"No," she said softly. "I'm not."

"Then you can – what was it – 'give massive hints' all you want, but I'll still know," Ron said softly.

"Know what?" she asked, and her voice was a whisper.

"That in the end, when it came down to it, you picked him," Ron said, and his voice cracked as he angrily blinked tears out of his eyes.

This time it was her turn to lose all words, she stared up at him, her lips parted as she looked into those blue eyes that sometimes followed her into her dreams at night. It was happening, it was really happening. And there was nothing she could do to stop it. And she knew what he was going to do a moment before he did it.

"Ron, no –" she said, but it was already too late. He took another step backwards, and he crossed the line. He was past the wall of defenses Hermione had put on the tent. He was one side, and she was on the other. She knew, because she had cast the spells herself, that he could not see the tent or see her or hear her. But she could hear him and see him. He was staring at her, though she knew that he did not know it. She was frozen to the spot, watching him as he buried his head in his hands and cried. She gasped; she wanted to reach out and embrace him more than anything else in the world, but she couldn't. He had chosen: he was on one side, and she was on the other.

He looked up, and their eyes connected. Hermione felt a shiver run down her spine. She took another step closer to him, wondering if he could feel that she was still there. He stared hard at her, and she stared right back; one seeing, one blind.

Ron shook his head; he looked up at the tent, then back at her. She knew, though she did not know how, that Ron thought she wasn't there. "I love you, Hermione. I wish I could say that to you. I wish I was as brave as you are, and I wish I could have told you," he whispered, his voice broken.

Hermione stumbled back in shock, her mouth open as every extremity grew numb at his words. She tried breathing again, for her chest seemed to have forgotten how. She retraced her steps, moving toward her. Slowly, she outstretched her hand, tricking herself into thinking that any moment, Ron would reach out and take it.

There was a loud crack, and he was gone. Hermione gasped, her hand falling limply to her side. "Ron," she said softly, her voice barely rising above the rain. It was quiet and uncertain, and she hated it.

Fury rose up in her again; he couldn't say something like that – he couldn't say that he _loved_ her – and then leave. No. She balled her hands into fists.

"Ron!" she shouted, her voice echoing in the empty forest. "Ron! Ron! _Ron_!" she screamed, until the back of her throat felt raw and her skin was numb from the cold. She fell to the ground, her knees hitting the floor of the woods painfully, though she did not seem to register it. Because he was not coming back. He had left, and he would never be able to find them. She might die, she might never see him again, never tell him that she had been there when he said he loved her, never tell him that she loved him back. She sobbed hard into her hands, the finality of it all hitting her heard in the chest. She could feel her heart aching. He was gone, he was never coming back. She kept on repeating this in her mind, because she knew she would never truly believe it.

He had chosen his side, and she had chosen hers.

_I know it isn't long, but please review if you can!_


End file.
